


Everlasting

by SarbearOkami



Category: Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions
Genre: Ghetsis thinks he can get away with murder, N "All My Friends Are Dead" Harmonia, N cuts a bitch, N thinks otherwise, Other, honestly he needs a hug, i'll decide after uni decides to not be a bitch, regardless it's still the starting point, this was part of a bigger thing that may or may not still be happening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 18:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10622832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarbearOkami/pseuds/SarbearOkami
Summary: N has always fought for the wrong side, and has paid for it. How can you live with yourself after that?





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this could partially just be considered a drabble because I had the idea, but it'll probably expand to its proper size eventually. This is just a partial idea I had, it's part of something bigger.  
> Sometimes I feel like 1K is small, and it is, but it's not as small as I think it is. Heh, you should see my other fic.  
> Anyway, enjoy me actually using AO3 for once.

It was too much.

It was just too much for N. He couldn't stand it anymore. The chills that ran down his spine whenever he walked past the man he had called a father. Monster more like, he thought. Yet the voice in his head reminded him he wasn't any better, that he was just as bad. What he lacked in intent he made up for in ignorance. The ignorance that had caused those he had called friends to be slaughtered like cattle.

_ Treason _ , Ghetsis has justified,  _ treason against the authority of Unova. _ What utter bullshit. It was fear, fear that one day they'd strike back against them. N shivered. He was part of this. He knew Ghetsis would not hesitate to be rid of him if N ever showed any hint of betrayal. After all, he was just a puppet, a figurehead to take the blame of the people while his father controlled the strings. So easily replaced since his job was already done. And N  _ hated  _ it.

He had to do something about it. He couldn't just sit by while the murderer of so many people wandered in the same halls he did, day after day without consequence. It was better if Ghetsis didn't exist, he decided. The country could finally make something of itself under the oppression, receive the justice they deserved.

Yet he couldn't. N never thought himself to be a coward, but anyone in their right mind would be afraid of Ghetsis. He was taller than N was, with the strength and build to match. He could squish N in an instant, with no inhibitions holding him back. Not like N, who had a soft and gentle heart that had been so easily misled. He couldn't.

But he had to. For them, at least. He knew in his heart that they would not want him to, but his restless nights replaying the same memory over and over had him needing closure. Needing some sort of justice for them. They were dead, that fact wouldn't change, but N needed something to feel like he wasn't a complete failure. Like he wasn't the worst friend in the world. A way to tell them that when he had pursued his ideals it certainly wasn't for something as godforsaken as this reality.

It was the memories of soft hair and loving voices that soothed him as he picked up the knife. He felt unreal, like his spirit was a spectator in his own body. Watching himself drift from the kitchens up flights of stairs and long hallways to arrive at the door of the room his father slept in. The dead silence of the night air was so stagnant and thick he could probably cut it with that knife.

How very naive he felt. How many times had he arrived at this door as a child, on nights where nightmares would scare him to go hide under the sheets of his father’s bed? He opened the door, the brass and wood feeling numb under his fingers as the tension in his body almost tripled with anticipation. Ghetsis slept with his curtains open, always, ever since he could remember. The pale moonlight that washed through the window illuminated the room in soft light, picking out the shapes of furniture and the sleeping body of his father.

He drifted across the room almost like he was floating. He couldn't feel his feet on the ground as he stepped. N felt deadly calm for some reason. His breath did not labour in fear or his heart beat with adrenaline. Just a quiet calm that held a malevolent intent, like a storm before it turned into a hurricane and wrecked havoc. How dare he, he thought as he looked upon Ghetsis’ sleeping face. How could he sleep so soundly after what he had done? It wasn't fair, it wasn't right.

A hand poised in the air, wielding the knife that glinted in the moonlight. It shined most threateningly, eager to taste the red blood before it. N felt slight hesitation fight its way into his mind, a conscience that begged him to not fall as low as his father. He snarled and shook his head violently. No he couldn't turn back now. He  _ had  _ to finish this now. With an determined cry he drove the knife downwards the impale it in Ghetsis’ chest.

The sharp pain roused the older man from his sleep, crying out in surprise at the knife lodging in his sternum. N didn't give him the chance to retaliate and pulled the knife out only to strike him again. It sank just as low as the previous one did. Ghetsis roughly grabbed the hand holding the knife and N pulled away in panic and stabbed him again.

He wouldn't stop trying to stop him. He didn't deserve the chance to defend himself, N thought. He didn't deserve trying to divert this fate since he hadn't offered the same courtesy to those he had killed. It was in no way a fair fight, and N was just fine with that. He pinned down his father’s arms with his knees and continued to drive the knife into his chest. Pained screams rang in his ears as he stabbed, over and over and over again. They echoed in his head and made him feel sick.

Red stained the entirety of Ghetsis’ chest, seeping into the mattress and N's pants. Splatter had landed on Ns face and shirt, his hands were completely dyed red. He was nearly gone now, gurgling on blood as it filled his lungs. Panting erratically, N reached up to grab onto the tail of hair that stood on Ghetsis’ head. He held his head in place as he held up the bloodied knife one last time before driving it into the flesh of his throat, skewering his head to the mattress. Ghetsis lurched up a coughful of blood that splattered onto N's face. With a pathetic burble, his one remaining eye became glassy. N let go of his hair.

The following silence was deafening. N, trying hard to calm his breath and heartbeat, looked down at the husk of his father. His face was frozen in an expression of shock and pain, blood staining his lips and chin. N felt far from pitiful, but he still moved his hand down and closed that one eye. He wasn't  heartless after all, no matter how much Ghetsis tried to have him believe. Emotion still struck through his chest. He did this.  _ He did this. _ N was pulled in some many directions at once he felt like he'd be torn apart.

And in that moment, N felt like a child again. Lost, misguided and miserable. A sob fought its way up his throat and he choked on it. He felt like he couldn't breath. Tears spilled over his eyes and cut through the blood on his cheeks. It was not out of mourning for the man beneath him, but rather he was mourning himself, his friends and the Pokemon he had loved all his life. All of which he had failed to protect. He let out a shuddering sob that wracked his chest and buried his face into the still chest of his father. Blood painted his face but he didn't acknowledge it. The pain he felt demanded his attention and he gladly gave it as for the first time, since this nightmarish dream had become a reality, he cried.

He cried for those he had lost. He cried for the pain he had inflicted on others. He cried for the years of abuse he endured. He wouldn't have been able to stop even if he wanted to, and he didn't stop until his eyes couldn't produce any more tears. The blood had cooled and congealed by then. Ghetsis’ body had already grown rigid and cold.

 

The sun rose and N did not stir. He felt heavy, like a great weight pulled on his chest. It was only when the castle woke did he get discovered. A single Grunt, smelling blood and noticing the ajar door, burst in to find their King sitting on the pale, bloodied body of one of their Sages, the latter with a knife driven through his throat. He screamed bloody murder, drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

“Your Highness, what have you  _ done _ ?!”


End file.
